Archive for category: Swollen Monkey

In the days of yore, a gracious King ruled the land with no greater concern than the nutrition of his people. His rule afforded the people a nutritious, multi-vitamin laden cereal and they, in turn, overlooked his penchant for scarves.

The sweet monarchy of taste appeased the citizens and they cried, “Alas, the King is bold, the King is brash! We love his sweet flavored corn chunks slithering from our ass! Long live the King!”

But, a nefarious plan was a foot as the King’s once noble Jester, Riboflavin, held contempt for the King of Nutrition.

When God made Ty Pennington, he basically told all of us to go fuck ourselves. Why should Ty Pennington be despised and physically assaulted wherever he goes, you ask? Because he’s a marketing robot that a bunch of television executives sitting around in a boardroom, brainstorming a way to “Target the younger demographic” came up with. He’s not real and here are five reasons why:

Did you know that Livestrong bracelets are mass produced by parent-less, orphaned, child laborers who sleep in cages, deep within the seedy underbelly of downtown Tokyo?

You didn’t see Lance Armstrong thanking them after his 6th Tour de France victory, did you? No! But, I bet you saw him pimp these godless items in the name of cancer prevention and treatment, didn’t you?

One thing that I have learned about crazy old ladies is that typically, (and I would hate to make a sweeping generalization here) the longer their goatee, the more they are out of their mind. The stench of urine they emit also holds some type of bearing on mental stability, with the more pungent odor signifying less ability to function within the social constructs of civilization.

The building that I am currently living in is an exact replica of the hotel in the movie The Shining, starring Jack Nicholson. While that in and of itself doesn’t raise an inherent sense of fear, the thought of that combined with the thought of a 55 year old schizophrenic woman who drags around a laundry cart filled with heels of bread, walks with a limp and plays on the elevator until 3 in the morning, does.

The most questionable and single most objectionable event I ever witnessed was watching a kid with down syndrome win the air guitar contest at my 7th grade mixer.

Sure, it seems harmless enough, doesn’t it? Cram about 300 prepubescent 7th grade boys and girls in a small place and serve Coke, while a rented DJ played the top 40 hits of the day, such as Bon Jovi and the Spin Doctors. (I guess some of us were more like post-prepubescent because we had pubes and we could get a boner when exiting our desk if we weren’t careful.)

In a stunning turn of events revealed on Wednesday, United States Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld announced plans for the commencement of a “War on Peace”, slated to begin by sweeping American city streets as soon as next week.

“With the failure of the ‘War on Drugs’, the ‘War on Terrorism’ and the trifecta, the ‘War on Poverty’, your government has decided to pick a fight that it can’t possibly lose,” said Rumsfeld as he casually adjusted his nut sac with both hands. “By needlessly slaughtering thousands, well….actually, we’re hoping more like millions, of innocent people across the world, we can join together and eradicate a common enemy; Peace.”

It’s been a long, hard day. You’ve just gotten off of work and you want to kick back and catch a nice buzz. Unfortunately, there isn’t a lot of currency at your disposal. Just like a salmon with the natural instinct to swim upstream and propagate the species, you have the natural instinct to drive up the street to the liquor store and wrap your lips around that tall, frosty 4-0.

Ah yes, the 40 ounce. Men throughout the ages have sung praise to this heavenly creation, passed on to us by the Gods. For just around two dollars (less or more depending on your tolerance for shitty tasting beer), you can get your drink on and also feel like a pimp whilst holding this challis of mediocre social standing.

The 40 isn’t intended to impress people or chicks; it’s there to get you nice and toasty. Depending on the beer you like and/or the money at your disposal, there are social class breakdowns within the context of the 40. Read more →